by: Carlos Bulosan
"Bended Trees" (2009) by Angelito David
While I was still staying in the village with Father, the Insular Government of the Philippines had nothing to do with our lives. We made our own laws and obeyed them willingly: but we did not write them down for the proper authorities to verify. These laws were handed verbally from one generation to another, and we never questioned their sources or validity. Afterward men of a new type came to our village and settled among us; but they started questioning our unwritten laws. They began a series of serious controversies over the ownership of land.
My grandfather was ahead of his contemporaries in many ways. He selected a spot in the village which he knew would become the key point when farming demanded irrigation. He also went to the provincial government and paid the clerk to record his claim. Then he returned to the village with a map and some papers signed by the governor stating that he legally owned the piece of land where he finally settled down for life. When he died he gave these valuable documents to his oldest son, which was the tradition in that part of the islands. According to their provisions, the papers should be handed from the oldest to the youngest son, and whoever had it was the rightful administrator of the Property.
When I was seven, my Uncle Duval died. Father was next in line to him, so the papers came to his possession. He called a council among his brothers, because the new settlers were already tearing the village apart. They were dispossessing many of the descendants of the first settlers. Father thought that it was high time that they should protect their homes and property. They built a strong fence around the land that they had inherited from my grandfather.
Father believed that the law was on our side. But the new settlers came from regions where there were many laws, and so they were skillful in finding loopholes in our laws. That was why they had acquired vast tracts of land in our village. They became rich and powerful by mere technicalities.
The land that surrounded our farm was owned by a family of five sons. But the new settlers came and one of them grabbed it away from them. He had a little education in both English and Spanish, and he used it in dispossessing the former owners of his property. Father was apprehensive about him, but he never thought that he had some surprise for us. My uncles were apprehensive too, but they were ignorant of the motives of their neighbor.
We planted rice once a year and idled most of the time. When harvest season came, we invited all the members of our tribe and held parties that lasted for several days. Peace and happiness went on undisturbed for years. But one day the town clerk came to the village with a paper stating that our neighbor owned the large hangar tree that separated his land from ours.
We were roasting a pig near the granary when the shocking news came. Father stopped turning the roast and stood in the center of the silent tribe. He asked one of my uncles to take his place by the fire. Then he told me to follow him with a lantern.
It was a dark night and the rice stalks came in my way. I followed Father to the far end of our farm. Sometimes I put the lantern on my head to keep the oil from spilling. Sometimes I put it behind me. because I could see my way better in the dark. Then we came to the tall tree. We stood for hours looking up at the tree.
Father did not go to court when he was supposed to appear. A policeman came to the village of a donkey and told him that it was imperative for him to answer our neighbor's claim, otherwise the tree would automatically belong to him. Father thought about it for a while, drinking wine with the policeman. Then he opened the box where he kept valuable papers and asked me to go with him to town.
I rode behind the policeman, but I decided to walk before we reached Father carried a sack of sun-dried peanuts. We stopped at our town only for a few minutes, because we were very impatient.
When we arrived at the presidencia, the court was already in order. The plaintiff was sitting behind a young lawyer with a gentle face. The judge was sitting in his high chair. Father was rushed to the witness stand by the guard. The prosecuting attorney spread a map on the wall where everybody could see it.
"Is it true," he said to Father, pointing to a spot on the map, "that you own the property marked 'A' in the village of Mangusmana?"
Father got up from the witness chair and walked slowly to the map on the wall. He examined it closely for several minutes, looking sideways and bending in the middle. Then he fumbled in his pockets for some papers. He detached a thick parchment and compared it with the nap on the wall. It was the old map of our property in the village. It had been handed down to him from my grandfather. Slowly, he walked back to the witness chair and sat down.
That's my property, all right," he said.
Do you have any evidence to prove that it's your property?" asked the prosecuting attorney.
Father gave him a piece of paper. I was familiar with it, because my grandfather showed it to us before he died.
"Exhibit no. 1." said the prosecuting attorney.
The court guard took the paper and gave it to the judge.
The judge lit a match and examined it carefully: then he took a cigar and waved the court to proceed.
"Look at this man carefully, " said the prosecuting attorney. pointing at the plaintiff. "Do you recognize him?
Yes," Father said. "He owns the land that encircles my farm." You mean this property marked B? asked the prosecuting attorney, pointing at the map on the wall again.
Father got up again and walked to the map on the wall. He looked at the spot marked "B and fumbled for his map again. He compared the two maps. Then he returned to the witness chair and sat down. He was very calm.
"Yes," he said.
Now, said the prosecuting attorney, "do you recognize the spot marked 'C'?"
Father went to the map on the wall again. He examined it carefully come time. Then he returned to the witness chair and crossed his legs.
That's the spot where the tree is located," he said.
"Do you recognize that it' s inside property A?" asked the prosecuting attorney.
It's inside my property, all right," Father said.
"Answer yes or no," said the prosecuting attorney.
Yes." Father said.
"Do you have anything to prove it?" asked the prosecuting attorney.
Father gave him the old map.
"Exhibit no. 2," said the prosecuting attorney.
The guard took it from him and gave it to the judge. The judge lit another match and examined the map. Then he waved to the court to proceed.
Your witness," said the prosecuting attorney.
The young lawyer jumped to his feet, but the plaintiff held him back. They whispered back and forth pointing at the map on the wall. Then the lawyer walked to the center of the courtroom and faced the judge.
Your Honor, he said, "my client, the plaintiff, claims that justice can't be properly rendered if the court doesn't move to the scene of the dispute. There are evidences that could not be brought to the court."
"As you wish," said the judge.
The court adjourned. The clerk gathered the papers on the judge's desk and put them in his briefcase. The Chief of Police ordered one ox cart for the judge and another ox cart for us. We bought bibingka, or rice cakes, and rode to the village.
We arrived in the village when the sun had set. We lit several cms and walked through the rice fields. The two policemen put their hands together and carried their chief. The judge stopped at a ditch and started eating young rice. When we reached the spot it was already very dark and bats screamed in the tree.
The judge walked to the tree and touched its trunk. Suddenly, he turned around and sniffed at the air.
"What is that smell?" he asked.
It comes from the flowers of the tree, Your Honor," Father said.
The judge threw away the young rice in his hands. The prosecuting attorney put his hand on his nose and looked up the tree. The Chief of Police bit at his chewing tobacco. The gentle face of the young lawyer broke in agony.
"Is this the disputed tree?" asked the judge.
"Yes, sir," said the plaintiff.
"It smells like a dead person," said the judge.
"It is said that the hangar was the tree on which Judas hanged himself when he betrayed Christ," Father said. "All his earthly sins went into the flowers of the tree. We smell the flowers only at night, because Judas' infamy is compared with the darkness of night."
He sure was a sinful person," said the judge. "What is this good for, anyway?"
"It's not good for firewood," Father said. "The goats don't like its caves. It's not good for anything. It's just a tree."
You have strange ways in this village, said the judge. Lets proceed with the case. Im beginning to have a headache."
The young lawyer held his nose with one hand and pointed at the tree with the other.
This is evidence no. 3," he said. The trunk of the tree is in the defendant's property, as you will see. But all the branches are in the plaintiffs property. Now observe for yourself."
They moved closer to the tree and looked up. It was already dark and the lanterns were not so bright. It was a large and tall tree, too. The judge walked around it and wagged his head in disapproval.
Chief," he said to the chief, "send one of your men up the tree."
One of the policemen climbed the tree with a lantern and a long rope. He sat on the top and let one end of the rope fall to the ground. He held the other end.
"Do you see the rope?" asked the judge.
We were standing on our property. The prosecuting attorney walked slowly around the spot.
"I don't see it here," he said.
"It is on the other side of the fence," the lawyer said.
"It is my client's property, all right."
They walked to the fence and looked to the other side. They saw it in the plaintiff's property. They looked up the tree. It was true; all the branches were on his side of the fence.
"Why did the tree fall toward that side?" asked the prosecuting attorney.
"It's the strong winds in these parts," Father said.
But the judge was already fainting with the powerful smell of the tree's flowers. The chief was choking. The young lawyer sat on the ground and tore at his tongue. The clerk started to cry.
"Run to the house and get some cotton, son," Father said.
"All right," I said.
I ran across the rice field and came back right away with a basket of cotton. Father started inserting wads of cotton in their noses.
"Do you need anything, son?" Father asked.
"I don't smell anything." I said.
"You would smell it if you lived in town," he said.
After a while the judge got back his breath. He looked up the tree again and a decision came to his eyes.
"It's true that the trunk is the defendant's property." he said. "But all the branches are in the plaintiff's property. Therefore, the trunk belongs to the defendant and the branches belong to the plaintiff."
"In that case, sir, Father said," I'll cut my part of the tree."
"But you can't do that!" the plaintiff said. "You will damage my part of the tree.
The judge was surprised. Here was another angle of the case, and it had no precedent on which he could base his judgment. Suddenly, he looked up at the tree and yelled at the policeman. The policeman in the tree slipped and the lantern fell. The tree caught fire rapidly. He jumped from branch to branch like a monkey; then he reached the ground and ran for safety.
"What happened?" asked the chief, holding his mouth.
"I couldn't stand the smell any longer," he said. "It nearly killed me up there."
"Here is some cotton," Father said. "Put it in your nose."
We stood aside and watched the tree bum to ashes. Then we went to the plaintiff's house and killed a goat.
"Next time pick another tree," Father said.
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